We Had Today
by Mlle M's
Summary: Time was ticking, and Jane couldn't even remember how many seconds they had left- not many. He only remembered feeling his blood go cold when he saw Lisbon running towards the death contraption. Pre-Blue Bird. A story about how a bombed car almost took a life away and changed the course of many things. Two people realizing that they'll never be as happy as when they are together.


**A/N:**** This is something I've been working on little by little during these last two months, hence the very lengthy OS. I've considered dividing it into 3-4 chapters for the read to be easier, but it worked better this way. That said, some of you probably are already closing this page because, well...it _is_ an 8000-word monster.**

**This is inspired by a lot of Grey's Anatomy scenes (all GA followers will undoubtedly recognize the quote introducing the story), with a hint of the book One Day (title of this fic taken from Rachel Portman's composition for the movie adaptation - a beautiful piece).**

**Time frame: Lisbon hasn't taken her decision yet wether she'll be leaving to D.C. with Pike or not.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist.**

* * *

><p><em>If you love someone, you tell them.<em>

_Even if you're scared that it's not the right thing._

_Even if you're scared that it'll cause problems._

_Even if you're scared that it will burn your life to the ground._

_You say it, and you say it loud._

- **Mark Sloan**, Grey's Anatomy

* * *

><p><strong><span>Near death experience (and an I love you)<span>**

One second. She'd been that close to losing her life.

It was one of the cruelest scenarios the FBI's serious crimes unit had ever had to deal with. A little girl was trapped inside a bombed car, the lifeless bodies of her parents in the front seats, most likely stabbed on the spot in front of the child. Time was ticking, and Jane couldn't even remember how many seconds they had left - _not many_. He only remembered feeling his blood go cold when he saw Lisbon running towards the death contraption.

"Lisbon!" he exclaimed, but she didn't listen - _or didn't hear_. Abbott held an arm out to prevent him from going any closer to the crime scene and joining her.

"She knows what she's doing," he told Jane, but couldn't keep the small note of apprehension from tinting his voice.

Jane didn't even hear him with the buzzing in his ears as the adrenaline pumped in his system. He held his breath, his eyes glued to the car Lisbon was leaning into to get the frightened child out of there. She didn't seem to be making any progress, the child uncooperative and traumatized for having witnessed her parents' deaths.

Seeing how they weren't going anywhere, and how time was now alarmingly reduced, Abbott exclaimed, urgent and demanding, "Get out of there, Lisbon! _Now_!"

"_Lisbon,_" Jane yelled, his stomach dropping and his heart pounding against his chest. The bomb was going to explode any second now. And _he was going to witness it_, they all were. He felt sick.

And then there was fire and a deafening sound and ashes falling down.

"_No_!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he forcefully pushed Abbott's arm away. Hs vision was blurred by the smoke and the tears that had yet to fall. He blindly took a couple of steps forward - _he felt like he was drowning_.

And then he saw her emerging from the grey smoke, damp with sweat and her hair disheveled, sticking to her face - but _very much alive_, the girl held tightly against her chest.

He took a step back in shock and ran a hand over his face to try and keep himself together.

* * *

><p>He didn't address her a single word for the rest of the day. She pretended not to have noticed his unusually quiet self since the incident, but fully intended to talk to him after work.<p>

At exactly 5 pm, Jane rose from his couch and headed straight for the elevator. Lisbon was quick to follow.

"Jane," she called out as she joined him.

He didn't turn around, instead pressing on the call button again.

"The elevator won't come faster no matter how many times you ask for it, you know."

"It's still worth a shot," he said, with no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

Then the familiar bell rang as the doors slid open in front of them. They both stepped inside, Jane deliberately not making any eye contact, to Lisbon's annoyance. The doors closed, and then it was only them in the small cubicle.

Lisbon broke the silence after it became apparent that her former consultant wasn't planning to initiate any form of conversation. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes there is, apparently. What's going on, Jane?" she asked, voicing her worry. _Old habits never died._

He sighed. "Nothing, Lisbon. Everything's perfectly fine," he replied coldly.

She flinched. "What, so now you won't even look at me?"

She watched as he bowed his head, the muscles of his jaw clenching. And then he looked at her, and she could see clear as day all the pain and hurt in his eyes - her breath hitched. But the doors slid open once more and he stormed out of the elevator and the building.

"Jane…"

He suddenly turned around to face her once they were outside, a wild look in his eyes. "You could've died today, Lisbon," he reminded her harshly.

"But I didn't," she replied calmly, almost soothingly.

It wasn't enough to quell the sudden rush of anger he was feeling. "What were you _thinking_, risking your life like that?" he exclaimed.

That did it.

"I was doing my _job_, Jane," she snarled back. "I often put my life in danger for the sake of the badge. I thought you already knew that. Why would this time be any different?"

"I almost _lost_ you today!" he shouted back, breathing hard.

And the bitter reply Lisbon had prepared died in her throat, her heart clenching. She understood. If it had been him in that car…

"Jane…" she whispered.

He continued in an urgent voice. "I thought you'd died in that explosion, Teresa. And I…" He paused, remembering the seconds that had followed. His eyes bore into hers, and they held unshed tears. "I _can't_ lose you. I won't survive and that's your fault. _You_ made me love you, _you_ made me let you in," he said between clenched teeth.

He fully weighted the meaning of his words when he saw her eyes widen and her mouth opening and closing. And he didn't really know if he'd said them due to the aftershock coming from the memory of what had happened several hours ago, but he did know they were the closest thing to the truth.

He didn't divert his gaze, and didn't even think about the consequences - he would've regretted not telling her for the rest of his life if she had died today.

"I love you, Teresa. And I _can't_ lose you." His voice cracked somewhere in the middle of that statement.

She stared at him, tears threatening to spill, and she closed her eyes briefly.

Jane let a couple of seconds pass, and he was feeling much calmer as he took a step towards her. "Lisbon?" he said softly, his eyes searching to meet hers.

But Pike chose that moment to burst out of the building. He quickly nodded a "Hi Jane", and then his eyes were only for Lisbon. He took a couple of rushed steps, and then enveloped her in his arms.

"I heard you almost died today," he said against her hair, and he didn't notice how she didn't really hug him back, just placed her hands awkwardly around him.

She glanced at Jane from over Pike's shoulder, and wished she hadn't. The utter sadness and reluctance in his eyes broke her heart.

Jane nodded at her, not meeting her eyes anymore. He cleared his throat. "I, uh, will see you tomorrow, Lisbon." His voice was hoarse.

And she watched him head towards his airstream; he didn't turn around. She wanted to call out his name, but she couldn't - because of Marcus, but mostly because she wasn't sure where her vocal chords were anymore. She barely heard Marcus whispering "Let's bring you home," only registered the salty tears sliding on her cheeks and how her heart was aching for the arms of someone else.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Three long days (decision to make)<span>**

_Three days._ They didn't bring the subject up again - they barely even talked. And they hated it, hated the awkwardness that inevitably came every time they had to face each other.

On that third day, however, Lisbon invited him to dinner at her place. And through the seriousness in her eyes, he knew she had taken her decision. He noted the nervousness in there, too, and he couldn't read her - had no idea what to think of it. So he braced himself for the worst.

_One thing he did know was he'd rather loose her for her happiness than from anything else._

The evening came along, and he was at her doorstep on time, knocking at her door.

"It's open," he heard her shout from inside.

He found her in the kitchen, doing dishes in her sink while the faint smell of whatever she'd put in the oven tainted the air – _chicken_, he presumed. It was still daytime outside, and the hazy sunlight caught in her hair, giving it a red-brown glow.

"Hey," he said simply, making his presence known so as not to startle her.

"Hey," she replied as she finished rinsing the dishes and put them on the plate rack. And then she turned around, leaning against the counter, finally facing him.

"So I told Marcus I wasn't going to D.C.," she said casually, her eyes meeting his.

He was taken aback by her revelation. "What?"

"I'm not leaving, Jane," she repeated softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips at his dazed expression.

He grinned an infectious smile at her, and she couldn't help but fully smile back. But his expression quickly sobered up. "What about Pike?"

Her eyes held a mix of sadness and guilt. "He deserves better than to be in half a relationship. And besides," her gaze was now searching his own. "I don't want to lose you, either."

Then, as if the idea suddenly occurred to her, she quickly crossed the room in three long strides until there was only mere inches separating them, and she kissed him. He slowly placed his hands on her hips with the gentlest of touches, while one of hers grazed the curls at the nape of his neck, the other caressing his cheek. They stayed like that for some time – _it was one of the sweetest kisses they'll ever know_. Then, they pulled away, their foreheads touching, Lisbon's hand that had been buried in Jane's hair sliding to rest on his shoulder. She looked at him intently. "No more lies, Patrick."

"No."

"No sneaking behind my back, tricking me, or using me."

"I won't."

"You won't?"

"No, I promise I won't."

And then she pressed her face into his shoulder as his arms tightened around her. She let go a frustrated sigh.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just… I thought I had finally let you go."

She _knew_ he was smiling. "I don't think you can."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Moving in<span>**

Two months now that they woke up every morning in each other's arms. And they were deliriously happy together. They fought - often, because they were _Jane_ and _Lisbon_ - but never for long. They'd always worked like that in the past, swept it under the rug, really; and there was too much to lose now.

The alarm clock sounded at 6:45 am like on any other workday. The sun was rising, its rays seeping through the window and painting the room in orange and gold. But they didn't move just yet. It was something neither of them used to do _before:_ lying in bed. They had a reason to now, though. Her head rested on his chest, and their legs were tangled at the ankle. He had an arm wrapped around her, tracing invisible patterns on her bare arm with a feather-light touch.

But Lisbon's by the clock habit soon kicked in, and she stirred, sighing in resignation. She tilted her head upwards and smiled when Jane's eyes met hers. "Hey," she said.

He grinned back his million-dollar smile. "Good morning," he said back, and she didn't think she could ever get used to this, or ever take this for granted. His voice oddly reminded her of warm honey.

She reluctantly untangled herself from his arms, and was about to get out of bed when she felt his hand locking around her forearm, pulling her once more against his chest. She wanted to laugh as she looked down at him, and he was grinning that infectious smile.

"You're going to make us late," she said, trying to stay stern, but he raised his head and kissed her, and she instantly found herself kissing him back.

He pulled away. "You're right. We should get up."

She made a move to get out of bed, and for the second time he pulled her back in. She laughed and this time was the one to initiate the kiss. He smiled into it and she did too, both feeling the warmth from the blissfulness of the morning growing in their chests.

Then she got up and he let her, his eyes trailing down her bare legs – she was wearing her football jersey.

She threw a pillow at him. "Up!"

Today he was the one preparing breakfast while she took a shower. There was no way he was ever going to let her go to work with no more than a granola bar in her stomach. And even though she'd insisted she could take care of herself at the beginning, he knew she was secretly touched by his concern. In the end she had let him have his way in the kitchen, but only if they took turns. He'd teased her by pointing out how controlling that sounded, but she'd sent him a look, the one she used when she didn't want him to mess with her, and said _"Give or take."_

On Sundays, they prepared it together.

Walking downstairs, she was greeted by the smell of boiled eggs, toast, and freshly made coffee and tea. Her heart warmed at how easily they've adapted to living together.

She joined him in the kitchen, pecked his lips and thanked him, and they ate and made small talk. Those were the mornings they both enjoyed.

He got up as she cleaned the table. "I'm driving," he told her with a knowing smile, and his smile grew at the grimace she made. "I'll start the car."

He was about to head out of the room, when Lisbon called him. "Jane, you forgot something." Out of habit they sometimes called each other by their last names; they were still working on it - especially her. But in the end he'll always be her Jane, just like she'll always be his Lisbon.

She tossed him a set of keys, and he was fast to catch them.

He took a second to examine them – it was the double keys of the house - and then he looked at her with that sunny grin of his. "Why, Lisbon, is that your way of asking me to move in with you?"

The lightest of blushes tinted her cheeks, and he had the satisfaction of watching her feel embarrassed. "There's no moving in, really, given you're here most nights anyway."

_True_, he thought. He looked at the keys again, wondered when she had the time to go make them. The grin hadn't left his face. "Well, thank you. I'd love to be your flat mate."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush." But he saw the laughter in them; and the smile forming on her lips betrayed her.

He headed out of the kitchen and she was about to turn around toward the sink when Jane's head poked around the entrance of the room. "I love you." He smiled at her, his eyes crinkled. And then he was out, and she was left with the brightest of smiles on her face.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Betrayal of trust<span>**

She was _furious_ at him. She'd been worried sick for the past eight hours, sending him texts, calling him, leaving him voicemails pleading him to call back. She could barely concentrate on the present investigation, spending the whole day imagining every possible worst-case scenario that could've explained his sudden disappearance: from abduction to him leaving her because he'd realized that this life – _their life_ – wasn't suited for him.

But her relief was short-lived when she saw him walking out of the elevator doors. He was _grinning_. And Abbott walked to him, shook his hand to thank him for whatever mission he'd accomplished; something about going undercover. And it suddenly made sense why Abbott had dismissed her so easily earlier today when she'd voiced her worries about Jane.

The utter disappointment she felt only ravished her anger, and all she could think about was how she really wanted to kill Jane right now.

He walked towards her and his smile quickly vanished, his lips forming a tight line after he read her expression. She stormed to the nearest interrogation room; he got the message, and followed her.

He'd barely had time to close the door before she started yelling at him.

"How _dare_ you?"

"Lisbon, I can explain. You couldn't know. Abbott-"

"To hell with your explanations, I don't even want to hear them!" she shouted, and he knew better than to try to reason with her. He had to wait for her anger to diffuse – something that clearly wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was? Of course you don't, or else you would've warned me before falling off the face of the earth!"

To his credit he looked guilty. _Good_, she thought bitterly.

She continued. "And don't you tell me you didn't receive any of my text and messages. God knows how many I sent of those."

"Fifteen texts and eight voice messages," he said quietly.

For a short moment, she was taken aback by his precise answer. But she didn't let that faze her. She shook her head. "I cannot believe you got me in this position _twice_."

He detected the edge in her voice, and the hurt clear as bell was like a blow to his guts. He could deal with her anger, but not so much her disappointment.

"Teresa, I'm-"

She held her hands up to stop him from finishing his sentence. "No, don't. I don't want to hear it."

And she left the room, the click of the door echoing dully as it closed behind her.

She didn't see him anywhere near the bullpen during the hour left to work - she assumed he'd already called it a day. They came to work together in her car on mornings, so she could only conclude that he was in his airstream (after having checked if the car keys were still in her bag for good measure). She would be heading home alone then; he was giving her some space. She _should_ be thankful, because she was still not going to forgive him anytime soon, but instead felt some uneasiness sinking down her stomach. She tried to shrug it off, but in the end frustratingly noted how all her previous irritation with Jane had almost faded away.

She headed down to the parking lot with a heavy heart, because she couldn't remember when was the last time she'd slept at the house alone. _It's for the best, _she told herself; but stopped in her tracks at the sight of the person leaning against her car.

Jane stood up straight and took the couple of steps that were separating them. "I was a jerk."

She gave him a hard look. "Yes, you are."

He continued on as if she hadn't interrupted him. "Sometimes boyfriends can be jerks." And then he sighed. "You get that I'm saying I'm sorry, right?"

She didn't answer, just slightly raised her eyebrows at him.

He took one last step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. His gaze was insistent. He knew about her fears, knew she was afraid he wouldn't come running back to her the next time he disappeared. It hurt and it was _absurd_, because he thought he'd made it clear in the past just how dependent he was of her. He was going to fix that right away, though.

He gently tilted her chin up, his touch warm against her skin. "But from now on, you can expect that I'm going to show up. Even if I yell, even if you yell, I'm always going to show up. And I'm not going anywhere except home with you. Okay?"

She deliberately took a couple of seconds to answer, looking at him intently to be sure he was sincere. A flash of comprehension crossed her eyes - _he knew. Of course he did._

"Okay," she answered back softly. "But you're still not off the hook, Jane."

He smiled at her. "Wasn't expecting to be. Now let's go – I'll let you drive."

She shook her head at him, a hint of a smile in her eyes - _she'll forgive him soon enough._ "Nice try. But it was my turn anyway."

* * *

><p><strong><span>First Christmas<span>**

"Hey guys, you're under a…mistletoe," Wiley called out, but then, feeling embarrassed by the implication of his comment, quickly made his way back to the bullpen.

Lisbon and Jane simultaneously raised their heads, and indeed found the plant hanging from the ceiling. The FBI apparently took Christmas Eve very seriously.

Lisbon frowned. "Who put that damn thing up there? Anyone stepping out of the elevator is bound to walk under it."

Jane shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "No idea. But I'd rather you not take the elevator with Abbott today, dear."

She swatted his arm. "That's not funny."

Instead of pointing out how she was trying not to smile at the joke – _he found it particularly endearing when she did that_ - he laid a hand on the small of her back. "Well, since it's tradition, there's nothing much we can do about it, is there?"

"No, there isn't," she sighed only half reluctantly. She'd been the one insisting they should keep their relationship and work separated, two things that couldn't meddle. _Oh well_. It would be the exception to the rule.

With a triumphant grin on his face, he bent down just as she raised her head. Kissing Teresa Lisbon at work was something to be considered an accomplishment.

They shared a quick kiss - sweet, nonetheless - and headed to the bullpen as if it were any other day.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Being there<span>**

They were at the hospital, talking to the victim's daughter. They'd found and caught the murderer, even though that term wasn't appropriate; the sixty-something man hadn't died - _yet_.

"You should go home," Jane told Anne with a pointed look. They knew about her mom's brutal death, and how her dad weakly gave in to alcohol, sunk in so deep he beat his two kids as a result.

"I know what you're thinking," she replied, looking at both Jane and Lisbon. "Why is she staying at her father's side after what he's done to her?"

Lisbon flinched, barely noticeably. Anne glanced through the window of her father's room, where he lied unconscious and weak and was _dying_. She continued.

"My Dad's far from the perfect father. He's made mistakes, including some unforgivable ones. He's hurt me many times in many ways, and I've hated him for that. I have for a very long time." She took in a shaky breath. "But even after everything he's done, he's still my father. And I can't let him die alone."

They excused themselves shortly after that.

"Teresa."

She was walking ahead of him, and faster than she usually did, trying to find the way out of the labyrinth of immaculate white walls and sterilized atmosphere that was the hospital. But when she heard him call her name, she stopped in her stance, fighting her original impulse to push him away and bottle everything up. They were in this together for more than a year now, but old habits proved not to be broken easily.

"I just…need a moment." Her voice was higher than usual; she was trying very hard to be strong. She didn't meet his eyes, instead found the waiting chairs against the wall and sat down.

He slowly bent down beside her. "We have all the time you need," he said reassuringly.

He took her hand, clasping their fingers together.

"My dad died alone," she admitted, tears burning her throat at the memory and sharp, fresh guilt both suffocating her. Old wounds had been reopened mercilessly.

"Take deep breaths," he whispered soothingly. "Slow deep breaths now."

She knew what he was doing, but didn't tell him on it.

He was soothingly rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Come here."

Her head fell on his shoulder, because there was something reassuring in how his cheek pressed to her forehead, and how she could smell his cologne.

"In and out. Just breathe."

She was feeling much calmer, her body gradually relaxing as the seconds ticked by. Finally, she raised her head from the crook of Jane's neck.

"I'm okay."

"You're okay," he repeated, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at her.

"Thank you." It was soft and meaningful, the _for being there_ underlining her words.

"You're welcome."

That's what they did. They'd always been there for each other, and even more so this past year with their newfound proximity.

And they were doing a pretty good job at fixing the other back together.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Two years now<span>**

She woke up on the day marking their two years together to a cold and empty bed. It was Saturday and they'd purposefully taken the day off to have the whole weekend to themselves.

She knew he hadn't forgotten, and was ready to bet it was the reason why he wasn't there. She briefly wondered what he could be up to, but then it was _Patrick Jane_ she was trying to guess; so she quickly let it go.

Seeing no reason to stay in bed, she got up and headed downstairs to prepare breakfast.

He still wasn't back when she was done, so she decided to call him before taking a shower. As the answering machine started playing, she wondered if he was purposefully ignoring her call.

The _beep_ sounded. "Hey. Where the heck are you? Better hurry back before your tea runs cold." She paused and smiled. "Two years now and we still haven't strangled each other. We're doing pretty good. I love you. Lucky you!" It was easier to be more sentimental when leaving a message.

She hung up, the smile still on her face, and she shook her head; he knew damn well she wouldn't warm up his tea before he arrived.

* * *

><p>He walked out of the florist with a bouquet of red and white roses. He got inside the car and put it on the passenger's seat. He'd accidentally left his phone there, and was willing to bet Lisbon had tried to call him. Sure enough, she'd left a message.<p>

He listened to it, a smile forming on his face. _As if Lisbon would ever warm his tea without him there._

He called her back, but she didn't answer her phone. He knew her routines by heart - _hadn't taken long_ - and would bet she was under the shower.

He left a message. "Hey, it's me. Just to let you know that I'm setting out now and will be home soon. Two years. At this rate I think we can endure two more. I've made dinner reservations for tonight. That's everything. Except to say that I'm a lucky man and I love you, too. Have for a long time now."

He started the car just as the dark grey clouds that had been hanging menacingly over the city burst, letting the fat grey drops of water crash to the ground. The pace at which they fell accelerated as the rain became heavier.

His eyes were glued to the road ahead, his eyebrows creased in concentration.

He didn't see the blur of movement on his left.

* * *

><p>She would always remember she was curled on the couch reading the newspaper that day when she received the call.<p>

She'd never driven so fast over the speed limits, and her hands were shaking despite the iron grip she had on the steering wheel. Tears were clouding her vision, and she blinked several times to keep them at bay while she focused on the road ahead.

It was still raining violently.

She was at the hospital in less than twenty minutes, running through the entrance and to the receptionist's desk. "Patrick Jane," she gasped. She was barely keeping herself together.

And then there was a doctor talking to her, telling her he had multiple injuries. She vaguely heard the details with the blood pounding in her ears.

_Chest crushed_.

_Lost a lot of blood_.

"There's not much we can do," the doctor finished, his eyes apologetic. And she had a hand over her mouth to stifle the strangled cry that was ripping at her lungs, the tears she'd been suppressing having long since run down her cheeks. She was under the sensation of living a nightmare she just couldn't wake up from.

"You can go see him if you like."

So she furiously wiped the moisture off her cheeks while nodding weakly - it wouldn't help if he saw her in this state.

Because clearly their time was limited.

* * *

><p>She closed the door behind her, and along with the beeping of the machines, she heard him stir.<p>

"Hey," he croaked, his voice husky and dry.

"Hey." It was barely above a whisper. Tears were brimming her eyes as she moved to sit at his side. She noticed the bouquet of roses on the small table, and she was barely able to contain them any longer. "Thank you for the flowers," she said in a watery voice, taking his hand in hers and holding it tight - _a silent promise that she won't let go_.

"You're welcome." He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes; she saw pain flicker in them. He was growing weaker by the minute.

"I love you," he said in between two breaths, the words echoing like a goodbye.

Her heart was racing in her chest; _she wasn't ready for this. _

"No, don't. Please don't." She tightened her grip on his hand. "You're going to be _fine_, Jane, do you hear me? You don't die today," she said firmly between gritted teeth, not really knowing to whom the words were really meant for; him or herself.

This _couldn't_ be meant to finish like this, not with everything he'd been through. She'd always had to prepare for the worst-case scenario with Jane; but a car accident couldn't be what would take him away for good.

"Lisbon…"

"I love you," her voice cracked. "Which is why you have to stay alive."

A sob escaped her, because reality suddenly came crashing down, and she _knew_ he wasn't going to be strong enough. Not this time.

"I'm sorry." His eyes, holding unshed tears, were burning with such an intensity that made her flinch at the implication.

"Hush," she pleaded. She didn't want him to even dare think it was his fault.

"Teresa… Listen to me," he ordered her gently, with shortness of breath.

He told her how she was going to be fine, because she knew how to take care of herself without any of his help – she had always been the strongest one. He said he was and will be eternally grateful – _literally_ – for everything she'd done for him, and that she'd saved him by loving him. He asked her not to be sad for too long, because life was a great and terrible and endless thing - and all he ever wanted was her happiness.

With a tremor in his voice, he told her he loved her one last time.

Her hand was still gripping his tightly – and she held it until he didn't anymore.

* * *

><p><strong><span>After the tragedy<span>**

They barely recognized the woman sitting at Lisbon's desk during the first months that followed the accident.

She didn't talk - answered a question when asked, but no more. Everyone could see she was keeping everything locked inside for only her to endure. And when someone would try and offer her help, she'd just keep pushing the help away.

They knew she could probably see _him_ everywhere. He'd been such a charismatic man, he'd left his mark in every room – _visible or not_. And his tea and cup still rested in the break room's cupboard.

So she was burying herself in her work to try and keep her mind busy. Abbott couldn't complain about her efficiency, but he was clearly very worried about her, too.

They never mentioned Jane around her, too scared of the damage it'd cause.

But then one day, Abbott suggested storing the couch away - he didn't say _Jane's couch_, even though it truly was - and she snapped, refusing to let it go. He hadn't insisted, but it was all it took for her to break all over again.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Healing<span>**

She was doing better lately. To Cho's relief, she was making some huge efforts to open up again and accept the team's invitations to go out, whether it was for a case closed pizza or just for the fun of it. She was smiling again, too - her smiles almost but never quite as bright as the ones Jane got out of her, the ones he only had the secret to.

She was _trying_, though, and that was enough. And it had been a while since the last time Cho had found her at the bar across the street after work. She'd found the will to stop before reaching the point of addiction - though she'd once admitted, under the influence of the alcohol, that she'd never felt closer to her father then during that dark period.

As a precaution, they tried not to bring Jane too often in a conversation - a shadow crossed her eyes every time she heard his name.

But she was doing a lot better. Really was.

Still, Cho couldn't help but worry about her as she was about to leave that Saturday evening - tomorrow would mark the first anniversary.

"Lisbon." She was waiting for the elevator.

She turned around, her eyes questioning. "What's wrong?"

"If you need me tomorrow, give me a call," he said, looking at her carefully. A mix of sadness and gratitude flickered in her green eyes.

"I won't." She replied softly, before placing a hand on his forearm in an affectionate gesture and giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

He nodded, knowing she finally meant it now - if she said she'd be okay, then she would be.

* * *

><p><strong><span>The first anniversary<span>**

She slept on her couch that night, wearing one of his dress shirts as a nightgown. And she was planning on sleeping through the whole day – it was easier to deal with the pain that way. Also because dreaming of him was always a blessing, no matter how much more painful waking up was.

_It was easier to remember the exact shade of his blue eyes in her dreams, or how they crinkled every time he smiled that grin he only saved for her._

She still got up to eat, and realized she hadn't checked her mail the day before. Sighing, she went outside, not caring if her neighbors saw her disheveled appearance.

To her surprise, there was a package waiting for her in her mailbox. She hadn't ordered anything online, though.

Sitting back on the couch, the blanket she used for the night on her laps, she opened it. It was a DVD with a note from Chris Markson. She remembered him now; he was a colleague back at the CBI working in the narcotics unit. Her team and him had always been on good terms, having coffee together from time to time - even Jane had appreciated him, said he was a good man.

Said man had even invited the five of them to his wedding.

He'd also sent a sympathy card after Jane's death.

She read the note.

_Dear Teresa,_

_I'm sure you're wondering why I'm writing to you now, when we haven't kept in touch ever since the CBI's been shut down five years ago. My wife and I couldn't make it to the funeral last year because of the kids (5 year old girl and 3 year old boy). But our thoughts are with you on this tough day, and hope you are keeping well._

_Here's a copy of the DVD of the wedding - and before you think, "what the hell?" you should know that there's definitely something in there worth watching, trust me. You might want to skip the ceremony and the first guest interrogations, though._

_I know for a fact that you were the only person that could've made Jane happy again, and hope that you got the chance to finally find each other once he was back on the U.S soil._

_There's nothing more for me to say except wishing you luck, courage, and to make the best of your life - I'm sure that's what he would have wanted for you._

_If he'd found happiness again, then you certainly can._

_Chris_

She'd promised to herself that she wouldn't cry today, because Jane wouldn't have wanted her to; she'd disappointed him enough as it was. But he'll just have to forgive her again.

Later on she finally decided to watch the footage - from the beginning. Memories of that day came back: it'd been a couple of months before the hunt for Red John. Rigsby and Van Pelt had just gotten together again, and Jane had been in the middle of elaborating his list of suspects at the time. Things had already started to grow dark, with him isolating himself in the attic whenever he could, leaving her to deal with everything else.

She'd cherished that wedding day for a long time; it had been one of the last rays of light they'd have for a long time.

A memory, that had been buried deep, resurfaced unexpectedly. It was still blurry and vague around the edges, because it had almost been forgotten; something about always having that day.

She caught glimpses of Jane and her sitting side by side during the ceremony, remembering she was wearing a dark green cocktail dress for the event. He hadn't forgotten to compliment her on it, she recalled._ "It brings out your eyes. You look beautiful."_ He'd said, making her blush slightly.

The scene changed on her TV screen, and she recognized the ballroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six years ago<strong>_

The party held after the ceremony was enjoyable, not at all suffocating despite the many people invited. A cameraman was wondering around the room, asking the guests a couple of personal relationship-related questions while the newlyweds dance happily. The tape looked promising, seen how some of the questioned individuals were already _very_ cheerful. Surely the married couple would get a good laugh out of it.

Lisbon walked back to Jane, standing alone away from the dance floor. She glanced wearily at the glass of champagne in his hand, knowing fully well it wasn't his first - before she'd left to get one for herself, his had been almost empty; now it was half full. She didn't comment on it though, not that she could have - Rigsby and Van Pelt joined them at that moment, arm in arm, followed by Cho.

"Did the camera guy get to you?" Rigsby asked them with an amused smile.

"Yeah," Cho replied, the ever still-stoic expression engraved on his face. "Asked me what was my type of woman."

All four of them cracked a smile – it was even funnier knowing it was Cho the man had interrogated.

"And what did you say?" Rigsby urged.

"Mind your own business," Cho replied, before taking a sip of his drink.

Rigsby frowned. "Come on, man. That's not cool."

Jane grinned, shaking his head, before he too took a gulp of champagne.

"What about you two?" Lisbon asked Van Pelt and Rigsby, not bothering to try and hide her amusement.

Grace smiled softly. "He asked Wayne what was the thing that annoyed him most about me."

"Oh, did you tell him it was her snores?" Jane asked Rigsby, therefore earning a glare from his fellow teammate.

"No, he didn't," Grace said slowly, frowning, before turning around to look at her boyfriend. "You told him there wasn't a thing," she accused him, while his expression turned sheepish. "Is there something you'd wanted to tell me?"

"Well, I um…"

Lisbon pursed her lips and diverted her gaze as Grace tugged Rigsby away, hearing her half exclaim, "I do _not_ snore."

"How about you, Boss?" Cho quickly asked.

Jane turned towards her too, interested.

"He didn't get to me yet, and he never will." The last similar experience she'd had was with Brenda Shettrick's camera crew, and it hadn't turned out so well. Once was enough.

"It's a shame," Jane said, sending her a knowing smile.

Lisbon shrugged. "And you, Jane?"

"I haven't had the privilege," He replied.

Cho silently eyed the two, before deciding to excuse himself. "I'm going to fill my glass."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present time<strong>_

After about a dozen interviews of a dozen people she didn't know or recognized, it was finally one member of her old team's turn.

She genuinely smiled as she watched Cho's stoic expression when the cameraman asked him, "What is your type of woman?"

And she chuckled - _it felt almost foreign_ - when Cho answered, "What's _your_ type of woman?"

"I, uh…" the cameraman's voice could be heard.

"Exactly. Mind your own business. Or go bother other people, I don't care."

She was ginning; he _had_ actually said _"Mind your own business"_ to the cameraman.

Next was Rigsby and Grace's turn. She saw the hesitation in Wayne's eyes at the question, and Grace's pleased smile at his answer. Lisbon shook her head, an amused smile pulling at her lips.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Six years ago<strong>_

Once Cho was gone, Jane finished his glass in two straight gulps. Lisbon finally turned to him, a frown etched on her forehead. "Jane, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Teresa," he told her, looking at her in the eyes. He knew calling her by her first name sometimes out-threw her. Yet she kept her ground, giving him a pointed look that said, _You're not fooling me_.

She knew weddings reminded him of his own. She truly felt sorry for him, accepted that she never really will understand his pain, but she'd be damned if she let him get wasted in her presence when she could do something about it.

"You've been drinking champagne like it was some damn tap water."

"It's only my second glass."

He held the alcohol well. He appreciated her worrying, though. It felt nice to know someone was looking out for him.

But she didn't get to reprimand him any further because one glance around told her the cameraman was coming their way.

"_Dammit_," she cursed.

Jane followed her eyes. "Go hide behind one of those curtains," he told her, inclining his head towards the wall to their left. "I'll distract him."

"Oh hush." She smiled, swatting his arm, but still left him there and headed in the opposite direction. She turned around. "We're not done with this conversation. I'll be finding you later."

Jane shook his head as he rocked on his heals, smiling. "I certainly count on it." And he watched her disappear in the crowd.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present time<strong>_

She didn't pay attention to the four or five interviews that followed, her eyes glazed over; she was buried in the memory. She knew Jane had been interviewed, and her heart suddenly beat faster at the knowledge that she would soon see his face up close on the screen - it would be the most accurate image she'd have of him ever since the accident. Her hands started to sweat with nerves, and she couldn't help the rush of emotion she was feeling knowing she'd been given the chance to _see_ and _hear_ him again, _one last time_.

She had no idea what to expect.

When the camera finally focused on Jane, her throat choked up. Her memories hadn't done him justice. His head was turned to the side - probably watching her leave, she guessed - and he had an amused smile she hadn't caught back then.

"Would you mind answering a couple of questions?" the cameraman asked as he stopped in front of him, and Jane turned his head as if he'd just noticed his presence.

"Why not. If it's to entertain the bride and groom," he answered cheerfully.

Her heart contracted painfully in her chest - she had forgotten how bright his smiles were; they lit up his face. She didn't notice how her hands were shaking slightly.

"Okay, great." The man in front of him cleared his throat. "Are you with someone?" Was the first question.

She watched how Jane's smile was partly wiped off his face, but he answered nonetheless. "No, I'm not."

The man on the other side of the camera didn't seem to have noticed his unease. He continued on to the second question. "If you had a partner, who would it be?"

She unconsciously held in a breath, not knowing if she wanted the answer.

Jane's eyes saddened, but his lips graced in a soft smile. "Oh well that's easy. Teresa Lisbon," he said, looking straight into the camera - _and she was under the illusion that he was looking right at her through the screen_.

Tears were burning her eyes as she continued on watching the tape silently, hanging on to his every word like they were her lifeline.

"Why's that?"

Jane paused, and she could see he was trying to find the right words. He took in a breath. "She's someone I can trust. She's strong, and she brings out the best in me. She has seen me on my worst days, and yet she's still here. She's everything I'm not, and better than I can ever be."

The sensation of déjà vu had her suddenly back in the CBI's attic, watching his interview filmed by Erica Flynn on his PC.

The last one was a yes/no question, and the hardest one to answer. Mostly so because of what it implied. "Do you love her?"

He swallowed, then diverted his gaze to seeming like scan the room.

And suddenly the last dots connected. She'd been standing near the banquet talking to Grace and Cho while Rigsby refilled his plate with the rich food. And for some odd reason, she'd felt like someone was watching her. She had looked in Jane's direction, wondering what was taking him so long, and had met his eyes. She'd raised an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at her lips. And he'd smiled back - the same smile he was right now addressing to someone in particular somewhere in the room, out of the camera's angle.

When he'd joined her after the interview, he had surprised her by putting a hand on her lower back. And had offered her to dance.

Jane faced the camera again, one last time, his voice raw. "Yes, I do."

The screen went black.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Six years ago (we've had today)<strong>

"Well, this was nice," Lisbon said as she pulled away – _with a hint of reluctance_ – from Jane's arms. The song had just ended and it would be unreasonable to stay there for the next.

"It was." Jane smiled at her, before laying a hand on her back to guide her out of the dance floor.

They returned to their previous spot, content with the other's company as both watched the crowd of guests dancing – or shaking various parts of their bodies – to the music. The DJ had switched from slow music to a pop song everybody seemed to know.

Lisbon spotted Rigsby and Van Pelt sitting at a table not too far away. The storm had passed apparently, because Wayne had an arm over Grace's shoulders.

She scanned the room for her second in command, but couldn't seem to find him. One person was standing out of the crowd, though, and Lisbon found herself unconsciously staring at her. The bride was glowing, her husband enveloping his arms around her from behind and rocking her to the beat of the music. He kissed her cheek, and her smile widened when he whispered something in her ear.

"He told her he loved her," Jane said, having followed her eyes.

She glanced at him, before watching the newlyweds again. "They look happy," she replied, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"They're living in the moment, committing it to memory," he stated, turning to meet her eyes. "They know that their new life together won't be a bed of roses. But who'd want to sleep on a bed of roses anyway?"

She grinned. "Nice metaphor. Shall I call you Baudelaire?"

He smiled. "Anyways, whatever awaits them in the future, good or bad, for better or for worse… They'll always have today," he finished.

"I like that," she said wisely. "We should've toasted to that earlier."

Jane contemplated that idea for a second, before suddenly walking away towards the bar. "I'll be right back," he told her, and she barely had time to even form a protest before he was too far away to hear her – and the music wasn't helping her case.

He came back with two glasses.

"What is that? Kirsch? Vodka?" She asked with disdain. It was as if he hadn't heard her earlier, and it really irritated her that he would-

"It's tap water," he said with a knowing smile.

He handed her a glass, and she didn't really know what to answer to that. Instead, she smiled gratefully at him. "So, do we toast for today?"

He looked her in the eyes. He had made great progress and knew he was close to finding Red John. That day was approaching slowly but surely; he could almost taste it. But it also meant that there wouldn't be good days anymore for a long time. And who knew what they would lose on the way – because there always was a price to an accomplishment. So he needed her to know that he was grateful to have her and to have those memories to keep him going. Because in the end, he couldn't lose sight that he was also doing all this to have _more_ of those good days in the future - something they both longed for.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, we've had today. We toast to that."

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN:**** I've worked on this for such a long time, it's both weird and exciting to see it finally finished and posted. So for those who read this until the very end, a little feedback on what you thought (and your favorite part(s)?) would be very much appreciated - I'd truly be grateful and it would make my week. Thanks for reading!**


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